Heaven Help the New Girl
by Sevilla Baens
Summary: Mark meets someone in the park while filming... No this isn't a MarkOC story.
1. Meeting

**A/N: This was inspired by the song title "Heaven Help the New Girl" by The Long Blondes.  
Disclaimer: I don't own (1) "Heaven Help the New Girl" (2) RENT. Nor will I ever. :(  
**

"Roger! I'm leaving." Mark yelled, to make his departure known. But no, Mimi was busy teasing Roger's lower lip by nipping it again...and again... and... again. Mark closed the loft's door behind him, glad to be away from the giggling couple. Knowing them, he probably wouldn't be back for a few hours, when he'd bang on the door and yell at them to put some clothes on, if they weren't asleep. Mark walked out of the apartment, and onto the street. He was going filming again, to where, Central park square? That sounded good to him.

Mark kept on walking. He took out his camera, and began looking for scenes that caught his eye. There was a Brazilian couple fighting, the girl pleading with her eyes to her boyfriend, _take me back, take me back, I'm sorry_. Then she caught sight of Mark and his camera. She began yelling at him in rapid Portuguese, and Mark quickened his pace, and turned his attention elsewhere.

To his left, there was a little boy - Mark did a double take to make sure - that looked exactly like Angel, in (Mark supposed) four-year-old form. The boy was crying on the apartment's stoop, his head hidden in the breezy, long pink skirt that he wore. Mark momentarily looked pained, but moved on.

Farther down the street, he saw an old homeless lady, feeding the pigeons with crumbs from her palms. The lady looked completely content, her eyes never leaving the pigeons. She didn't seem to care about herself, with her hair tangled and dirty, with her clothes worn and gray with use. The lady looked up and gave Mark a toothless grin and a wave when she saw that he was filming her. Mark smiled and waved back. That wasn't something he saw everyday, a bag-lady who didn't screech insanely.

The rest of Mark's journey continued in that same pattern, finding new scenes, but none that really inspired him. He sat down on the nearest bench. He looked around for inspiration, and noticed the girl sitting beside him on the bench. She had long wavy red hair held back in a messy ponytail, and pale skin, probably around fifteen years old. She wore sweatpants and a loose hoodie. She was bent down close to her notepad, where Mark assumed she was drawing.

Mark couldn't shake this off. Who did she remind him of? Then it hit him like a speeding train. April. That's who the girl reminded him on. Putting this aside, he focused on what the girl was drawing. She had leaned back, apparently satisfied with her efforts. Mark leaned to his right. The drawing was drawn in charcoal, and depicted two birds, one flying away; leaving the other perched on the electrical line. He was amazed. She could really draw; he could feel the sadness in the sketch…

"Oh my God!" The girl shrieked. Mark was pulled from his daze, and jerked back from over her shoulder. _What was wrong? I don't see anyone threatening around… Unless she's looking at the pidgeon in front me.._

"Whoareyou?!" She blubbered, a look of fright plastered across her face. _OH._ He thought, realization dawning. _Yeah, I'd be pretty scared if some older person was leaning in –close- towards me too. _

"Oh, sorry, I was just wanted to see your drawing. Or sketch, whatever it is, sorry. And I'm Mark. Mark Cohen." The girl looked at him. Mark saw that she had an icy shade of blue eyes, a relief to him. Now she didn't look exactly like April. But still, it was eerie.

"Oh, I see.. I'm Timory Jacqueline Thompson." She said emotionlessly, obviously relieved that Mark meant no harm. She looked at him for a moment, studying his face, her eyes falling onto his camera.

Something struck Mark. _Hm… A fellow artist… This could mean inspiration from other inspiration!_ "Do you mind if I film you?" He hoped she'd say no, he really needed someone- ANYONE!- to film. _Oh please oh please oh please OH PLEASE say no…_

"No, why?"

"It's just that I'm a filmmaker. And if there's nothing to film… I don't see the point of being who I am. Anyways. What inspired your work of art?"

" Errrm.." Timory paused for a moment, lost in thought; a light blush rising to her pale cheekbones. "It's not really a 'work of art'… it's just a sketch.. And my inspiration is... Life at the moment."

"Which is..?" Mark raised an eyebrow, waiting for an explanation.

"...You know how some people have ADD, and therefore cannot sit completely still? … Well, my boyfriend is like that… Relationship-wise."

Mark winced. "Ouch. What's his name?"

"Maurice." Timory said his name with slight venom in her voice.

_Oh, the irony of it all._

"What." Timory asked, no doubt annoyed at Mark's amusement.

"I've been in your situation. And her name... My ex's name was Maureen."

Timory laughed.

* * *

An hour later, Timory and Mark had become fast friends. They traded bits of their past, information about their arts, where they lived, and their views about their parents.

"Mm, yeah. My parents aren't the greatest, because Mom's never home, and Dad has a bit of a drinking problem, but that's okay. It's my life. So is wandering around at night when I don't have a place to stay…"

Mark was stunned. Sheesh, she had a lot of guts to wander around New York City at night as a fourteen-year-old. Even he wasn't that brave. That was really dangerous… even the Loft wasn't that bad… An idea formed in Mark's mind.

"Hey, can I write on the back of this?" Timory nodded, and Mark wrote neatly on the back of her notepad the address to the Loft, and handed her notepad back. "You can visit anytime as well."

Timory flashed a genuine smile. "Thanks, I really appreciate it." The two artists chatted for a while longer, and then she noticed how the sun was setting. She said, "I should probably go. It was nice talking to you, Mark."

"See you." Mark gave a small smile and a wave. _Timory's a good kid, I'd love to introduce her to the other Boho's.._

Timory waved, and started walking away.

**Endnote: Yeah, I reposted this. Why? I realize that it really thinned out toward the end of the chapter. Is this any better? Haha, I realized earlier that I had Roger nipping Mimi's lip repeatedly, and I was like, "Oh jeez." So yeah. xD Reviews are love!  
**


	2. Confession

**A/N: An update at last! Aaah, I'm sorry about that.**

Timory hurried out of Central Park Square at the sight of setting sun, towards her home. She was feeling crappy, and didn't want to bother with the gang-bangers and dealers and druggies she would have to face if she went home later. Timory trudged home, taking in the Alphabet City scenery. Truthfully, she didn't live all too far from Mark and his roommate's apartment. But he didn't need to know that.

Mark. He stuck out in Timory's mind- because, he was one of the few people who actually cared for her well-being. Mark was kind, and everything a girl would want in a parental guardian. Oh yes, Mark stuck out quite a lot in Timory's mind.

She reached the front of the apartment building, and entered. Timory's high spirits sank with every floor she went past. Finally, she arrived at Apartment 90L. She didn't bother putting her house-key in the lock. It opened with a gentle shove. Timory wrinkled her nose at the sight of the mess in the house. It was that she didn't clean, it was that the apartment never stayed that way.

She passed her father on her way to her little room; Bruce Thompson snoring on the sofa, sleeping upright, and a series of beer cans surrounding his little area. Timory took a moment to drink in the sight before her. She shook her head sadly. He had given up on being her father after she hit the age of nine; when she could cook and knew how to care for him. Now she was fourteen, and he was only worse. Drink, yell, and sleep. It was his routine.

Timory opened the door to her room, and didn't bother with turning on the lamp on her wall. She went straight for her bed, where she buried her face in her hands. She gave a sad little moan, and shut her eyes. She wished she didn't have to lie to Mark about her parents; _"Mom's never home"_ and _"Dad has a bit of a drinking problem"_ was an understatement. She wished that Mom wasn't gone, wished that Dad acted like how a father should, she wished more people cared for her… She wished. Timory sighed, what was the point of wishing without the intention of acting? She closed her eyes, and tried to think about her mother.

She hardly knew anything about her. She left when Timory was two (which made Timory guess that she was a teenage mother, afterall, her father was only 33); Timory looked exactly like her, except for her eyes; she had her father's eyes, and not her mother's celery-green eyes. Timory frowned, and screwed up her eyes. What else did she know... Her mother named her after one of her original characters in her story _All But the Stars_, and her name was April Ericcson.

**Endnote: Again, I'm so sorry for the wait. And for the cliffhanger. Aha not really. ;) Anyways, I might elaborate on All But the Stars and turn it into (another) oneshot. I realize that I should repost the first chapter because .. it sucks. Okay, enough of my rambling! Thanks to all that reviewed. **


	3. Pain

**A/N: Whoopee, quick update. Kinda. But anyways. School starts in a little more than a week, so after it starts, you'll have to deal with much slower updates. Sorry. **

Timory opened her eyes. It was Monday, March 8, 1990. She got up, and took a peek into the living room- her father was knocked out, sleeping off his hangover from the previous night. Didn't seem like he'd get up. Seemed like a good day to go to school.

Living in her life, it didn't mean that she went to school on a daily basis. No, she went every few days, or whenever she felt like it. Despite her lack of attendance, Timory's class rank wasn't bad.

Timory got changed, packed her backpack, and headed out the door. Never mind breakfast; it wasn't like she'd get hungry. Ten minutes later, she was two blocks away from Alphabet City High School, when she heard sniggering coming from her left. Looking for the source of sniggering, she found it. It. Him. Maurice Ariano. Dark haired, dark eyes, and a fair complexion. If it wasn't for the ugly smirk coming across his face, Timory would have seen the boy she fell in love with at first.

"Well, well, well." Maurice said in his smooth, venomous voice. He looked over his shoulders and at his buds, who were not exactly the friendliest people to be around. "Look who decided to show up at school."

Timory licked her lips. _Damn oh damn oh damn… This isn't going to be pretty._ Finding her voice, she responded, "Nice of you to roll out the welcome wagon."

Maurice's followers _ooh-_ed at her fresh response, _Isn't she going to get what she deserves now? Maurice is gonna give it to her now. _Maurice advanced a couple of steps toward Timory.

"You know what guys? I bet TJ here has been whoring in her days of absence. Just look at her! Her clothes and hair are rumpled; I bet she had a pleasant little tumble the other day."

Timory stiffened, but held her tongue. There would hell to pay for any retort she'd make. And suddenly, Maurice's group was surrounding her. _Oh fuck._ Maurice grinned wickedly.

"Get her."

Maurice and his friends were all over her- it was seven to one, and seven was winning. They were ripping at her hair and clothes, kicking and hitting and slapping every part of her they could reach. Using part of Timory's sweat pants that they ripped off in the tussle, Maurice gagged her. And to her absolute horror, the worse came. He raped her. Pain shot through Timory's body everywhere – there was blood running down her legs – she felt like her mind was going to self-destruct from the pain, oh why won't it stop - she was quaking violently. And again and again- oh _God_.

Somewhere in her mind, Timory remembered another lie she had told Mark- Maurice was her ADD-relationship-wise boyfriend, and that was what inspired her sketch of the bird flying away, leaving the other on the electricity line. No. Timory was the one flying away, and she was flying from the abuse that came with the relationship that Maurice forced her into. Not that he had raped her before, all it was slapping and kicks but that was then, and he was raping her _now_. But thinking about this was for another time. Timory dragged herself from the corner of her mind and into her situation. Maurice and his friends were out of her, panting for breath, looking like they were going to have another round. This was her chance. Mustering every bit of energy she had, _Timory ran._

Timory couldn't care less of how she looked. Absolutely rumpled hair, her clothes almost in statters, blood running down her legs, and a wild, desperate look in her eyes. It didn't matter, all she needed was to reach the so-called "Loft"… It was afterall nearer from Alphabet City High, and they were far behind from her, it didn't matter where she ended up, as long as Mark found her—

Pain shot through her legs. Timory almost stopped for breath, but she had the constant reminder that _they were coming after her_.. And a burst of speed came through for her.

Minutes later, Timory felt like she could whoop with joy! The old music factory on Avenue B and 11th Street! She was here! But instead of whooping, Timory yelled something else. "MARK!"

A groggy looking Mark Cohen looked around for the commotion. "Huhwhat?"

"MARK! DOWN HERE! IT'S ME, TIMORY! I'm… …down… here." With that, Timory collapsed onto the street.

**Endnote: Oh Eff, I didn't originally intend Timory to be a rape victim. But then again, I didn't have a plan to begin with. The rating is going to be bumped up to T, okay? Bye bye. Now leave a review. ******


	4. Rescue

A/N: Slap me. It's been almost two months since I updated. But lo and behold, I have three chapters written down. After this, I'll be posting a chapter once a week.

**xx**

Mark awoke with a start. Someone with a familiar, female voice had called his name. He put his glasses and got up; Mark went straight to the Loft's front window, where the voice was closest to. He looked around sleepily.

"Huhwhat?"

"MARK! DOWN HERE! IT'S ME, TIMORY! I'm… …down… here." Timory. Mark looked downward from the fire escape, and saw that Timory had collapsed. She looked completely battered.

Mark yelled over his shoulder, "DAVIS, GET YOUR ASS OUT OF BED AND CALL 911!"

Roger bounded out of his bedroom, looking mildly pissed. "Look, Cohen-"

"I don't care about your beauty sleep or about your hair, just call 911 and say we need an ambulance for an injured girl."

He sped down the stairs and out the building door. Up close, Timory looked much worse. Her left eye was swollen and bruised, cuts and bruises adorned her face and body; blood was seeping down her mouth and legs. Mark took Timory's face into his hands.

"Please, Timory, wake up, wake up…" Timory stirred. With her good eye, she opened it a crack.

"Mark? … My head.. is… k i l l i n g m e…" She passed out again.

Roger came stumbling down the building's staircase a couple seconds later. "The ambulance is on their way. Now Mark, can I please know what the fuck is going on?" Roger looked expectant of an answer and exasperated from lack of information.

Mark chose his words carefully. Roger couldn't see Timory's face clearly for all of the cuts and bruises, and he would have probably freaked out if he had seen an April-look-alike here, bleeding in Mark's arms. Besides, Mark didn't really know how to explain the situation either.

Mark spoke tentatively. "… Remember how I went out filming, while you and Mimi were getting it on in the Loft?" Roger nodded, and Mark continued. "Well, I met here there at Central Park Square. Her name is TJ, Timory Jacqueline Thompson. I'm … not sure what happened here."

Roger didn't speak for a few minutes, leaving an awkward pause.

"Is it just me, or does she look familiar?"

"I wouldn't have a clue," Mark lied hastily. The ambulance sirens wailed, and the lights flashed brighter as it got closer. The ambulance had arrived, and the paramedics rushed out with the stretcher. The nearest paramedic, an attractive auburn brunette with a serious expression, turned to Mark.

She asked, "What happened? She looks like she's in a bad way."

"I don't know, but it looks like she was attacked."

"I'll say. How old is she? What's her name?"

"Fourteen. Her name is Timory Thompson."

The paramedic gave a half smile. "I'm going to assume you're not related to her. Are you going to ride in with her?"

Mark looked startled, but nodded. "If I can, I will."

"Doesn't matter. You're the closest person she has to a guardian, seeing that you're holding her and all. Most people just call and watch from afar. Get in."

Mark obliged and gave a side glance to Roger. "Rog, I'll meet you at the hospital?"

"Yeah. I'm going to leave a note for Mimi firs though."

The door shut, and Mark squeezed his eyes shut. He was going to pray to God that Timory would make it…


	5. Explanation

A/N: If you can't figure it out, the constant "…"s is because Timory's a bit disoriented.

**xx**

_Safe_… That was the first thought that came to Timory's mind. The next thought she had was _**pain**_, and she was overwhelmed by the pain all over her body. She opened her eyes.

The room was an overly-bright shade of white, but the flannel sheets were warm, and all Timory wanted to do was sleep. But she didn't, due to the other presence in the room.

"Hey," Mark said. He was in a chair near her bedside, and a look of relief washed over his face. "You're awake."

Timory sat up, and tried to use as little energy as possible to avoid further pain. "Wait… how long… have I been asleep?"

"More than a few hours. But really, after all you've been through… What happened?"

She cracked a small smile. "Everything… that I've told you… about myself.. is a _lie_."

Mark raised his eyebrows, but didn't interrupt. "Maurice forced me into that … abusive relationship… he and his gang – Sam Saunders, Albert Hurney, Tim McGrath- … did this," she said, while gesturing at herself. "I'm … going to assume… my mom forgot… about me and my dad. She walked out on us …when I was two. And by the way.. if my dad is here… goddamn that." Timory dropped eye contact, and focused on her hands. "Sorry."

An awkward silence followed. After about fifteen minutes, Mark said, "I don't know what to say."

"You... don't have to say anything. I'm kinda tired, Mark… so I'm going to get some sleep." Timory closed her eyes, leaving Mark to survey her appearance. Bandages covered her neck, and there was a gauze patch on her left eye. Mark realized sadly, that this was only half the damage. He sighed, and left the room.

**xx**

Mark went back to the waiting room, only to be confused by the skinny, sweaty, red-faced man yelling at Roger. The man was shaking visibly, as he pointed a bony finger at Roger's chest. "You," he said, putting as much venom into that one syllable. "YOU!"

"Me." Roger replied. "What about me?"

"You're the scum April left me for! Do you know how miserable you've made my life? Or, what about TJ? It's not easy for her either, because she's always wondering WHY THE HELL HER MOM LEFT!" Roger only stared, dumbfounded by the information.

The same paramedic that had let Mark ride with Timory in the ambulance appeared, and told Bruce Thompson sternly, "Sir, sit down and keep your temper under control." The she noticed Mark. "Oh, hello there. I never introduced myself, did I? I'm Juliette Spencer."

"Mark Cohen."

They exchanged a handshake. Juliette smiled, and said apologetically, "I'm sorry, but I have to go. See you." She scurried off, leaving Mark still standing.

Bruce took a seat on the waiting room's bench, on Roger's left, and Mark took a seat on Roger's right. Bruce broke the silence.

"So… how's April?" He said roughly.

Roger replied in a monotone. "Dead. She committed suicide three years ago."

"So you killed her."

Roger scowled. "No… We both got into drugs, and she committed suicide when her STD's test result came back positive. I'm going to die of AIDS."

Bruce paused to think. "So it was the drugs that _you_ pulled her into that killed her."

Roger opened his mouth to shoot an angry retort, but Mark intervened. "You want to know about Timory's condition?"

Bruce nodded. Before Mark could speak, Bruce cut him off. He said in a glum tone, "I really fucked up as a father, didn't I? I mean, I let my skinny-Tim get attacked. I could've driven her to school or s'thing, I mean, I do have a car and shit, but… I'm never awake for that. Fuck, I don't even know when she eats." He looked at Mark with teary eyes. "I fucked up, and I know it. I don't want to lose her, not like April, no…"

It was uncomfortable to speak after Bruce's little speech. Worsening the situation, Mark said hesitantly, "I think she might've been raped."

Bruce let out an anguished howl.


End file.
